


This Boy, Let Go

by dynamic_fuckup



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Humanstuck, Implied/Referenced Suicide, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8060155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamic_fuckup/pseuds/dynamic_fuckup
Summary: I just wanted to write a story. So why not make is a Humanstuck Angst?





	

**Author's Note:**

> In case the names are confusing:  
> Karkat - Karson  
> Kankri - Kayde  
> Gamzee - Garrett  
> Kurloz - Kundas (Arabic word for Magpie)  
> Terezi - Teresa  
> Meulin - Miranda

\--

His name was Gamzee Makara.

Except it wasn’t. His name was Garrett Malcolm. You met him when you were three. When he couldn’t speak all too fluently and his name was a jumble of words he could never grasp quite right. Your parents were never too close, but you guessed that’s what brought you and Garrett together.

\--

Your name is Karson Vancoller.

Today was one of those days that you just didn’t want to move, didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want to exist. You had been this way for a while, but each time it’s just as soul crushing as the last. Your dad wasn’t home, he wouldn’t be for a little while; and you would never turn to your loud-mouth brother for help. Not unless you wanted your problems broadcasted to his blog.

So you lay in bed. Stare at the ceiling like you can give all your worries to it instead. You don’t call Garrett, he can detect your anger within a few short seconds. And yet your heart is tugging at your hands, making your fingers curl absently at your sides.You glance at your wall, the mirror hanging dirty and dusty. It makes you cringe.

It was enough to make you get up.

The sun shone through the slats of your blinds. You contemplated opening them, letting in natural sunlight that you probably need. Your hands find the cords before your mind objects. Tug the string and your room is flooded with light. You wince for a second, grab your whiteboard cleanser, and began to cleanse the fingerprints away. It always makes you happier to clean it, even if you can see every freckle on your face, the red-brown hair that never got lighter or darker.

You stare at yourself for a second, time worn clothes hanging loose from your frame. You were a sharp contrast from your brother. He was taller than you, soft planes of untrained muscle and baby fat that you always thought made him look more younger. Garrett had called him cute in the past, and you swore to yourself to never let your best friend see your older brother ever again. You still get cold sweats and a feel of lead in your mouth when you think about it. Of course you knew you were over-reacting, but that’s your brother he’s talking about.

Your name rang from downstairs, looks like you weren’t lucky enough to escape your brother after all.

\--

He sat you down, Garrett’s dad and brother stood opposite you, hovering in the doorway like moving past would decimate them. Your eyebrows knit together, confused. Kayde offered a seat to the oldest of the Malcolms, a man who was almost double your size. But your brother was comfortable enough with him, you assumed. The silent one was seated next, eyes glued anywhere but you.

“Kayde, what the fuck?” You turned your full attention to your brother, tired of his eerie quiet. He didn’t look at you for a second, as if he was trying to figure everything out. “Karson, I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to let me talk.” He wasn’t speaking as he usually would. Anxiety crept and made it’s home in your throat. Your eyes danced between the three older men, the same look on each of their faces. “Where’s Garrett..?” You were afraid that you already knew.

\--

His name was Garrett Malcolm.

He was 16 when his mother left. She was already sparsely around, would take your oldest son for weeks at a time. Only to drop him off the same and leave until she wanted him again. You figured she’d give up after a while, would just leave you and your boys alone. In his eyes, you were the only parent he had.

There were so many things wrong with your son. Granted, he was perfect as he was, obedient and outgoing. He truly cared for everyone. All he had in his heart was love to give. You felt he was projecting, if you were going to be honest. Searching for the love his mother never gave him, the kind you couldn’t replicate. He became closer to your oldest, that way.

You felt Kundas was a perfect replica of his mother, all beautiful, precise angles. He trained well, obedient and well-versed in your religion. He was your idol son for outsiders. Garrett was never seen too far away from his brother. Kundas towered him, but you trumped both of their height. Your wife was adamant about your son’s name. You heard her name for him. Felt it was a treason to your family.

And yet, you allowed her to name Garrett. And you’re still bitter to say that it fits him. He comes to his Arabic name, but his head turns quicker to his American name. You gave up calling him Ghali for a while, but you swear you see Kundas sign it, and his eyes will light up every time his name is called that way.

\--

You found yourself on the Vancoller’s doorstep before anyone else’s. Your arm draped over your son’s shoulder. You found it was only his sons there. It made it easier, not having to explain yourself on the doorstep. The eldest, Kayde, let you in without hesitation. You’ve had a few conversations with him when he’d drop Karson off. He was intelligible, not unlike his father. It was always a joy to talk to him. He would try to make his hands form words, would sit with Kundas and just allow himself to be at peace, watching your son’s face, rather than his hands.

But today you weren’t there to talk about recent events with Kayde, weren’t there to let Kundas visit.

Today, you were suffering deeper than you ever had before.

\--

Kayde was watching you with those eyes. Those apologetic eyes that you’d only seen when Dad would get on your case about something you had no control over.

Your best friend of nearly 11 years had been found dead.

It felt like your world had collapsed in on itself. Like everything had settled itself on your shoulders and no matter how much air you took in, it wasn’t enough. His father looked at you, but he said nothing. Instead, it was Kundas who took center stage. Kayde was there to translate, and you swore it seemed more like a wake than an explanation.

“He went in his sleep, there was no pain. Sleeping pills.” Kayde’s face twisted in pain, as if he was feeling all of your hurt. You wanted to scream what he wasn’t hurting, that he didn’t know him like you did. You wanted to cry and curse, but nothing came. Tears stung your eyes, and you did nothing to stop them; allowing your anger to flow in the only way you could.

He was smiling and laughing with you only a few days ago. Bright eyed and light-hearted. You felt your brother’s arms around you; you remembered how he used to hold you when you had nightmares all those years ago. You let yourself fall apart in his arms, sobbed until your throat was raw. You screamed to no one, begging for your best friend.

And then there was nothing at all. Your tears were spent. Everything was fuzzy, Kayde was there, and Mr. Malcolm looked to be speaking to Kudas, but everything was so quiet. It was like being underwater. So slow and quiet. The analogue clock ticked far off in the living room. You didn’t know what time it was anymore. But your father was home, his coat hung on the hooks lining the wall.

You didn’t sleep that night. You found yourself staring into the mirror. Everything was just the same, but your world was one person smaller, and you didn’t know how to accept it.

\--

Weeks passed. You began counting days after his funeral. You stopped leaving the house. Neither your brother or your father tried to make you, you were grateful for it. Teresa would come over, try to make you feel better, but after a while, even she stopped trying. There were days you wished everyone would just disappear. You wished you were the only one in the world. Make how you felt a reality.

Kayde would come up and check on you, set food on your desk. He would tell you he was proud you had eaten, it made you angry that he cared, and you couldn’t quite explain it. He never invited himself to stay, and sometimes you wanted him to, but the words would never form fast enough. The door would click shut, and you would be alone again. You would cry quietly, curled up into a ball in the corner of your bed. It only helped for so long, of course.

It became a routine, Kayde would wake you up because you couldn’t do it yourself anymore. He would ask you how you slept, and you would make a noise between a grunt and a plea for help; he seemed to never hear it, however. He would tell you about things, and you felt as if he would only speak to you to keep you there. You felt as if your mind was a boxing bag, thoughts winding in and out and your brother would protect you. He would talk you your answers, alleviate your anger.

\--

Karson asked you to stay that night. He asked you to tell him a story.

You told him a story about a rabbit and a wolf. In your time of majoring in creative writing, stories came easy to you. You watched him relax, and he reached for you. He asked so many questions. You told him answers you know he knew. You figured he just wanted to hear them again. You told him his name, his age. He told you his favourite colour. You told him about school, he told you he loved you.

You felt yourself being taken aback, all the way back to when he was five, and you were all he knew. When you were his big brother and he would grab your hand when crossing the street, so afraid that if you didn’t anchor him, he’d get hurt. Your father was always busy, he would be there to tuck Karson in, told him he loved him before he fell asleep. But that was years ago.

You kissed his head, and told him you loved him too.

\--

When school rolled around again, you avoided the questions. It seemed nobody cared when you wouldn’t answer. You sat alone that year. Not once did a teacher call for Garrett, you assumed they simply removed him from the system.

He didn’t exist anymore, after all.

You told the people you didn’t know that you never heard of anyone by that name. Teresa would walk you to class, and people would avoid her. She was known to “accidentally” strike people with her seeing eye cane. It made you laugh, and she knew it. You remembered the grade school crush you had on her, the one that carried on to junior high. You figured out the difference between love and infatuation though, and simply stayed her friend.

Your old friends wouldn’t ask you about Garrett, they seemed to have figured it out. You were thankful, even after all this time, the blow hadn’t softened. Kundas would sit with you at lunch, and although it wasn’t him, it was almost just as good. You didn’t understand him, couldn’t read his hands like your brother could, but you could read his face, and you felt like that was enough.

He became the most familiar face, a senior in high-school watching over you, your silent protector. He was your escort, would take you room to room and you never understood how he managed to get there so fast but there he was. There he always was. For a while, you pretended he was Garrett. You would slip and call him his dead brother.

You stopped thinking he was Garrett then.

Mr. Malcolm taught you the pronunciation, it was foreign and heavy, but he listened much quicker, didn’t have to decipher his name on your untrained tongue. Eventually, you stopped seeing your friend when you looked at him, instead you saw him, and you were okay with it. The classes got easier after he became part of your routine. You were never lost in that building, never alone during those hours.

He became your friend, and you felt as if you’d known him forever.

\--

Years had passed. Kayde and your father had a blow out. He left and you had never heard from him since. Kundas had grown right along with you. Tall and flourishing, as if he could reach up and pluck the sun from the sky and give it to you.

You had graduated with top marks, but never went to college. Eventually, you did leave your home town. But every year, you would visit Garrett’s grave. Would tell him all about what you did that following year. And for a moment, you felt as if the freezing cold of the winter months never existed. Kundas would meet you those days. His wife was a sweet woman, quaint and just as quiet as he was. You could talk with them, in their language that was secondary to you.

Her name was Miranda. And you felt like she would have gotten along with Garrett really well. She would get so excited when you wore the scarf she made all those years ago, when you first had met her. She was respectful and would sit with Garrett for a while, even after you and Kundas had gone across the street for coffee.

\--

You couldn’t recall what happened. But Kundas wasn’t followed up by Miranda anymore. He looked tired.

You were tired too.

It didn’t hurt to think about anymore. Your father had passed away. Your brother had settled down a country over. The world around you changed bit by bit, even Kundas had disappeared. But you always went to see Garrett on his birthday.

“Hey buddy,” Your hand fell on his head stone, and you went on about the past year.


End file.
